


Stand By You (Forever, if You Let Me)

by APenguinAteMySmarthphone



Category: HiGH&LOW (Movies), HiGH&LOW THE WORST, HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: As well, How Do I Tag, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, My First Fanfic, Not Canon Compliant, Spoilers, but only a few
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 09:50:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APenguinAteMySmarthphone/pseuds/APenguinAteMySmarthphone
Summary: In Jamuo's short life, so far, he thinks that the best thing that has ever happened to him was meeting Takajo Tsukasa.





	Stand By You (Forever, if You Let Me)

**Author's Note:**

> I am a beginner at this, and I'm writing for a series that I haven't seen any other works for (yet). So I'm extremely nervous.  
I really love the whole HiGH&LOW series, and the recent drama for the crossover was really fun, and I'm super hyped for the upcoming movie in October. It won't be as good as some of the masterpieces I've read in this fandom, or in any other fandom in general, but I really hope anyone who stops by enjoys this. English isn't my native language, so forgive me for any grammatical errors or the misuse of certain words.  
Hopefully I'll get better as I go on.  
(There are mentions of characters I may not have added to the tag list, so please forgive me for that.)

Jamuo sometimes thought it must have been some mistake of the gods for him to have grown up in the environment that he did.

The mammoth complex he- rather reluctantly- called home, hadn't sounded particularly bad when he’d first moved in. But later, as he’d been eating bread stuffed with jam in the corner of his room, he’d heard shouts, and the sound of things breaking: glass shattering, garbage pails being overturned, someone slamming viciously into a wall. When he’d poked his head through the curtains out of curiosity, he’d been greeted with a full panorama view of a group of boys barely above his age getting thrashed by another group that looked slightly older. Both groups were covered in bruises and scars, and one of the boys was lying dangerously close to a pile of broken glass, his leg splayed out at an angle that he was pretty sure wasn’t physically possible under normal circumstances.

Jamuo pulled his head back into his room and vowed never to leave his apartment again.

He might’ve gone through with it, until he ran out of bread, and realized neither of his parents were home.

He knew that their neighborhood was called “Hope Hill”, but when he later- with extreme caution- crept through the gate to the complex, he’d noticed that several letters in the arch were falling off, and where the words “Welcome to Hope Hill” had once shone proudly, there were now the words “Welcome to Hell”, an apt choice of words that portrayed his situation in a light far from humorous.

When he later learned he lived in the building dubbed the “Ghost Block”, Jamuo very nearly ran away from home.

Ghost block, murder block, hanging block, arson block… the names got progressively worse, and day by day Jamuo found himself wondering why his parents had ever thought this move was a good idea.

(It wasn’t until later that he learned that their neighborhood had originally been a town project built to test out whether children would grow better surrounded by more families with kids around their age. What a failure that had turned out to be.)

Takajo Tsukasa was the first person he’d met who immediately hadn’t tried to drag Jamuo into a fight or ground him into a pulp.

Around that time, the other children around him had (rather quickly) signaled him out as an easy mark; he sat in the corner of a classroom, ate nothing but jam bread, and tried to speak as little as possible with his classmates. Soon he had rougher looking boys following him around, ready to beat him to the ground and take his bag, his allowance, anything they could get their hands on. In any normal area, anyone passing by may have reported them in- they weren’t exactly subtle with their attacks- but here, children beating on each other was a normal occurrence.

In that sense, Tsukasa jumping in when he did had been nothing short of a miracle.

They’d been beating him up again, determined to take his bag. A few of his classmates had gathered to watch, eyes full of interest. Some glanced at him with a small hint of pity, but not enough to prompt them into action.

“Come on, jam boy,” laughed one kid, someone who had been much bigger than him, “Can’t you fight back?” His friends all laughed, as if he had made some tremendous joke.

If I did fight back, he was tempted to say, You wouldn’t be bothering me like this in the first place. But he never said anything, never talked back. He was too afraid of the consequences; he knew that in this place, if you couldn’t back up your words with your fists, talking back was tantamount to suicide. That’s what he’d thought, at the time.

“You’re blocking the road,” someone, a voice that hadn’t been there before, broke in, sounding bored and annoyed, “Move.”

Everyone craned their necks to stare at the newcomer, and then, as if by magic, quickly backed off, clearing a path. The boys who had been holding Jamuo by the lapels dropped him immediately, and he saw two of their faces pale slightly.

“Takajo.” he heard someone hiss from the crowd, loud enough that the person in question probably had heard. If they had, they made no indication to show it.

Jamuo, who had been desperately stuffing his things into his bag, feet poised to run, froze when a pair of worn shoes stopped in front of him. He could feel their owner’s gaze scrutinizing him, and he wondered if sacrificing his things and escaping was still an option. His eyes travelled up, and he found himself staring at a boy who looked slightly older than everyone there, with well-formed features and a slight crease between his brows.

The boy opened his mouth, “Do you need help?”

“Huh?”

“I said, do you need help.” Takajo, as someone had called him, pointed at his bag, “With that.”

That was the first time he had ever met Tsukasa. At the time, he’d had no clue who the boy was, only that, at the moment, when he’d said those words, he had seemed like an angel. An angel who he suspected he would never see again, with his luck.

But then, the very next morning, he bumped into him, right as he had been stepping out of his apartment.

(In Tsukasa’s retelling of the story, which Jamuo refused to acknowledge, Jamuo had basically walked straight into him as he’d stepped out of his door, and despite the former having no recollection of shoving him or bumping into him hard enough for the other to fall down, that was exactly what the latter did.)

From that point on, although he still had no idea how it happened, he became friends with Tsukasa. While the whole school scratched their heads about why, and how, Takajo Tsukasa came to talk with Jamuo, the person in question never seemed bothered by it.

“Why do they call you Jamuo?” Tsukasa asked, one day.

“All I eat is this jam bread,” he admitted, “So the nickname stuck. But it’s really good bread!” He hurriedly broke off a piece, thrusting it towards him. “Here, try some.”

Small moments like that- the sharing of food with, the talk of nicknames- it was the kind of fun Jamuo had never imagined he could have, living here. And when Tsukasa accepted his bread, eating it with no complaints despite the pairs of eyes turned towards them, accepted his nickname without laughing at him, Jamuo felt so happy he could cry.

For the longest time, he felt content walking behind Tsukasa; when he found a partner in Fujio, Jamuo was there, watching their fights with shining eyes from the sides, ready to cheer at their every victory. He’d been there when Nakagoshi, from his grade, had expressly picked a fight with the pair, and he’d also been there through every fight they endured with Yasushi and Kiyoshi, who were from a different middle school.

Watching Tsukasa and Fujio was exhilarating; what they each lacked, the other made up for. Tsukasa was always thinking a few steps ahead, taking note of their surroundings so he could cover Fujio’s back, and Fujio was forward thinking and straightforward, always determined to punch his way through, only ever looking straight forward, whether it be an opponent or a goal. The two of them shone bright, and he felt happy that they still let him walk alongside them.

In his short life, he felt that meeting Tsukasa had been the best thing that had happened to him, and he found himself happy to be able to be with him almost everyday.

One day, however, when he’d been walking, alone, for once, he’d (somehow, by some very unlucky roll of the gods’ dice) run into Yasushi. Just Yasushi, which wasn’t a rarity; sometimes the boy would come alone to talk or pick a fight with Tsukasa. Jamuo had noticed that Yasushi was more prone to taking solo action, as opposed to Kiyoshi, who seemed to enjoy doing things as a group instead.

When Yasushi saw him, he hadn’t seemed to notice who he was at first; but then the boy did a double take, squinting at Jamuo and tilting his head, his expression slightly perplexed.

“Aren’t you the kid that sticks to Tsukasa like a puppy?” His tone vaguely mocking, the boy made his way over. Jamuo instinctively backed away; he couldn’t, he knew, take Yasushi on.

(It was a strange twist of irony and fate that he did, at Oya High, a few years later.)

“Why does Tsukasa keep you around, I wonder,” Yasushi’s signature manic grin began to spread over his face, and Jamuo felt himself break out into a cold sweat, “He has Fujio, after all.” Suddenly, his voice seemed to turn slightly bitter, “From the way he looks at him, I would’ve thought that’s all he needs.”

The words nearly hollowed out something in his stomach; they were words he didn’t want to hear, poisonous words that he wanted to reject with all his being, words he didn’t want to listen to because he knew they held truth to them.

He has Fujio-san. He has Fujio-san. So why am I still here? Does he even want me around?

Yasushi grinned, “I can’t stand the guy, y’know. Always standing there, thinking ahead of all of us, the bastard. It was him we originally had beef with,” he laughed, “But when he teamed up with Fujio, suddenly he got livelier. More and more fun. We can’t beat him. We can’t beat them. But see, jam boy,” and at that, his face got oddly serious, “You’re not in that equation.”

“Yasushi.”

Jamuo and Yasushi’s heads turned at almost the exact same second; Yasushi to his right, Jamuo to his left.

“What do you want, Yasushi?” Tsukasa was there, the same neutral expression on his face, brow furrowed in an expression no one could ever identify outside of “tired”.

“Tsukasa,” Yasushi’s face seemed to light up, something that would’ve seemed much nicer if his face didn’t normally light up during the infliction of pain on another person, “There you are.”

“Did you need me for something?” Tsukasa casually scratched the back of his head, a small indication that signaled he couldn’t feel bothered. It was also, Jamuo noticed, a slightly disguised taunt towards one’s opponent; an opening offered at will, a gesture to show how lax one was at that moment, even when a fight was brewing. He noticed it, and there was no way Yasushi hadn’t, but all the other boy did was deepen his manic grin, the one Jamuo found himself shrinking away from, because it could signal a whole range of bad things.

“Not really,” Yasushi said breezily, “But since you’re here, I thought I’d tell you; Kiyoshi and I want a rematch. Tomorrow, on our turf. Kiyoshi should’ve already told Fujio by now, too."

“...Fine by me.”

“Good,” he smiled, with apparent satisfaction, and then suddenly his eyes went to Jamuo, and he felt his spine stiffen up, “But this time, your little hanger-on can’t come. We agreed not to bring our guys to your school last time, so we expect you to return the favor.”

Jamuo didn’t even have to ask why; he knew this was just a jab at the two of them, a way to get under Tsukasa’s skin more than his. But he couldn’t stop that strange feeling of bitterness that was close to, yet not entirely, despair. And when he thought of how it was likely hurting him more than it was bothering Tsukasa, more pain seemed to spring anew. Yasushi didn’t know how much he himself cherished being by the older boy, being able to watch their fights. Perhaps missing one wouldn’t kill him, but it still stung, all the same.

Maybe Yasushi did know then. If inflicting unnecessary pain was his thing- his fighting style certainly displayed it- then perhaps this was a calculated jab aimed at him more than his rival.

“That’s not my decision.” Tsukasa responded, calmly, seemingly unbothered by the abruptness of the request (more of a command, really).

“Then whose is it, Fujio’s?” Yasushi replied, tauntingly.

“His,” Tsukasa jabbed a thumb towards Jamuo, “He’s not like your gang; they agreed to follow your orders. You’re their leader, and they let you. I never asked to be this guy’s leader, and he never let me.”

With both pairs of eyes turned toward him, Tsukasa breathed out a sigh, “I don’t have the right to give him orders, Yasushi. If you want him to stay away, then ask him yourself.”

Yasushi snorted. “Always with the smart answers aren’t you? You sure you’re not saying it because you just can’t decide when Fujio’s not around?”

“Fujio would say the same thing,” Tsukasa’s voice seemed to get sharper, his voice a few degrees colder at the mention of his partner, “You want a match, we’ll give you a match. But don’t ask me for favors that are beyond my control.”

“If I…” Jamuo swallowed as both boys turned towards him, “If I fought alongside them, would you let me be there? If I fight, not watch, then there’s a reason for me to be there, right? So if I agree to fight you alongside Tsukasa-san and Fujio-san, would you let me be there?”

There was a long moment of stunned silence, so long that Jamuo worried whether his words were even registering with the two, before Yasushi broke it with a crazed laugh that echoed off the nearby concrete walls.

“Fight? You? Alongside Tsukasa and Fujio?” Yasushi’s words came out in gasps between his barely suppressed laughter, “Hey, Tsukasa, does this kid always tell jokes this funny? Because his sense of humor is killing me right now.”

“It’s not a joke!” Jamuo shouted, nearly in tears, “I’m being serious!”

“Jamuo,” Tsukasa said, softly, “Calm down. It’s not worth it.”

“But…”

Yasushi’s laugher finally died down, and he glared straight at Jamuo, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. When he opened his mouth, his voice had done a complete one eighty, and his tone was oddly serious.

“Listen, kid,” Eyes trained on Jamuo, he accentuated each word slowly, as if pushing pikes into his body one by one, “I- we- want to fight Takajo Tsukasa and Hanaoka Fujio. Even if you could fight, we wouldn’t care. You’re not a part of this. They’re the ones we wanna beat, and we’ve been trying countless times.” Yasushi’s eyes gleamed, silent, angry. “Do you know how we feel, being unable to beat these guys? We nearly drove Tsukasa into a corner, once, just once, and now that he and Fujio are partners we’ve never been able to manage it again. Don’t interfere, sideliner.”

“Yasushi, enough.”

Tsukasa had, at some point, come in front of Jamuo so that he was blocking him from Yasushi, and was glaring straight into the eyes of the other boy, his body radiating a quiet, subtle anger.

“You’ve said what you wanted to say,” he hissed quietly, “I already agreed to the match. We’re done here. Leave.”

“You’re the one who told me to ask the kid myself, Tsukasa,” Yasushi’s grin was once again plastered across his face, “And that’s what I'm doing.”

“And he doesn’t want to listen to you.”

The two stood glowering at each other for a moment longer, before Yasushi finally gave a small click of his tongue and turned away. As he turned to walk away, he threw one last look at Jamuo, still behind Tsukasa, before throwing away one last parting comment.

“It’s not like you to keep someone so weak around, Tsukasa. You’re not the savior type; leave that heroism to the simpler guys.” They both heard him snort a small laugh, before adding on, “Like your beloved partner, for instance.”

Jamuo thought he heard Tsukasa mutter “go to hell”, very low, under his breath, but when he peeked up at his senior’s face, all he saw was the same calm expression as always.

There was a long, long silence that seemed to grow more uncomfortable with each passing second, and that may have continued forever, had Tsukasa not broke it up with one of his longest, most tired sighs.

“Are you OK, Jamuo?”

Jamuo jumped, “I… I’m fine, Tsukasa-san. A… And, I’m really, really sorry.”

“Why?” The tired expression on Tsukasa’s face gave way to vague surprise. “You didn’t do anything.”

“That’s why I’m apologizing!”

At his loud voice, Tsukasa’s eyes opened wide, and he stared at Jamuo with a startled expression.

(It was among the few facial expressions Tsukasa ever displayed when Fujio was not around, and it was only later that he realized that it had been him, not Fujio, who had elicited it.)

“I… I couldn’t stand up to Yasushi. He only backed off because you made him, Tsukasa-san. When I shouted back at him, he shot me down so fast, a… and I couldn’t argue back.” His voice, he realized, was getting shakier and shakier, but he couldn’t stop the flow of words from his mouth. “I w… want to be with you and Fujio-san, not just… not just for the fights, but for everything else too. I w… want to hang out with and laugh with you two. But…”

Tsukasa, he realized, was staring at him, patient, face calm. It was a gentle expression, and it was perhaps the peacefulness he felt upon seeing it, as well as all the years of trust and admiration he held for him, that prompted him to keep speaking.

“When Yasushi said all that, I realized he was right. He… he’s a jerk, but he wasn’t wrong. Fujio-san can be your partner because he can stand on equal ground with you, and you stand on equal ground with him, but I…!” He gritted his teeth, “I can’t. I can’t fight, and I’m always hanging behind you scared. Not just of conflict, of getting hurt, of being shoved around, but of being told that I’m useless to you, that I’m not needed. And all I really want is to stand by your side, to be able to do so forever, to be a friend that you’re happy to keep with you, but I’m always scared that you’ll realize you won’t need me here.”

He sucked in a deep breath, before looking at Tsukasa, his eyes almost pleading, “Tsukasa-san, why do you keep me around?”

The other boy closed his eyes slowly at the question, and his lips, which had been set in a straight line as he’d listened to Jamuo basically spill his guts, opened slowly, as if contemplating the words he was about to utter.

“I never really thought about it much,” he said, softly, as his eyes opened with his words, “But you’re an interesting guy to hang around. Maybe that’s why.”

The emotion he felt when he heard those words was hard to describe, even to this day, but if he had to give it a name, it was probably joy. It was the first time anyone had ever found said anything like that to him, and before he realized it, small tears were pooling around his eyes.

When Tsukasa saw them, he must have mistook their meaning, for his face turned apologetic. “Sorry if that’s not the answer you were looking for.”

“No, it’s not that, I'm just…” Really happy, he wanted to say. Really happy, because someone, for the first time, found him interesting. Because someone had been at a loss for words for his sake, when asked why he let him stay by his side. Because someone accepted him being there, never questioned it, treated it as something so natural, that finding a reason behind it seemed absurd, just as asking why there was air, or why water existed. He felt the tears forming in the corners of his eyes start to flow, and before he realized it he was crying, more than he ever had so far in his life. Yet he also felt the corners of his mouth desperately curving up into a smile.

Tsukasa, who was wearing the face of someone who had no idea what to do, stood gazing at him for a moment, before gently placing a hand on his head. His hand was warm, and Jamuo felt the tears in his eyes rush anew.

Even if he could never put it into words again, even if what he had just said hadn’t completely registered with Tsukasa, he found himself repeating the words desperately in his heart, over and over, until he felt they had worn crevices in his soul.

Let me stand by your side, forever.


End file.
